


The Way

by Taupefox59



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-30
Updated: 2015-05-30
Packaged: 2018-04-02 01:56:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4041271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taupefox59/pseuds/Taupefox59
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My entries for Fiki Week, collected and cleaned up a bit.</p><p>Chap.1 - 'Beginnings/Ered Luin'<br/>Chap. 2 - 'Beneath the Stars'<br/>Chap. 3 - 'Stone Giants'<br/>Chap. 4 - 'Music'/'Erebor' (if this one got a relationship tag, it would genuinely be Fíli/Kíli/Lonely Mountain. Just go with it?)<br/>Chap. 5 - '200 years'</p><p> </p><p>The Motorcycle AU has grown, so it was moved to it's own work! <3<br/>So many thanks to everybody who came up with/supported Fikiweek. It's been so much fun. :D</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Beginnings/ Ered Luin

**Author's Note:**

> This is un-beta'd, so if you catch anything, please let me know. Constructive criticism always appreciated!

Sunday, 5-24: Ered Luin/Beginnings

 

They made up their minds, and they started packing, they left before the sun came up that day. An exit to eternal summer slacking, but where were they going without ever knowing the way?

Fastball - The Way

 

It had been a long day at the forge - Thorin was away with Gandalf and Dís, attempting to set things in order before the company left, leaving the brothers to complete any work that needed doing.

It had been Fíli’s idea to completely clear their slate. They’d gotten up before the sun, and spent the entire day at the forge, barely stopping to eat. Harvest was on the way, so there was a growing need for repair work. They’d spent the day forging new hinges and chains for threshing, blades for sything, and shoes for the precious few draft animals around. Together, they’d managed to complete and deliver every order they had, giving themselves freedom for the next few days.

After they’d finished tidying the shop, Fíli had grabbed Kíli’s hand and dragged him away from the forge and off to their home. They’d gathered what they’d need for a few days out - water for them both, smoked meat and a loaf of bread; they could forage for berries and greens while they were out. They left word with their neighbour that they would return within three days, should Thorin and Dís come back to find them gone. Fíli brought his favoured set of throwing knives, Kíli his bow, and they set off into the welcoming green of the forest surrounding their house.

The night was warm, as it always was this time of year. These nights were Kíli’s favourite. The long day had left a lingering heat in the earth, so spending a night in the woods could be done with only a cloak for comfort. Their first stop had been the river - in the last heat of the day, they were able to scrub off the lingering sweat and ash from the forge, to relax and refresh themselves in the clean, cool water of the mountain stream. From there, they went deeper into the forest, avoiding any paths left by dwarfish feet, instead preferring to crash through the underbrush, heavy boots trampling long grasses and soft clover alike. They were not hunting - not today. Today was for the simple joy of summer, the sweet, earthen smell of rich earth and thick-limbed trees, softly growing mosses and the bright splashes of color from where flowers would gather in patches of sunlight.

They would be leaving before the moon went dark, they knew that much for sure. Thorin had been planning to leave for over a fortnight, but Gandalf seemed adept at finding issues in need of attendance before they could be free of Ered Luin. The brothers did not know why the wizard was so intent upon the dates of their leaving, but they decided it best not to question. (They had tried once, but the answer had been a twisting phrase of comings and goings and knowing and feeling and ancient learnings and magic, and had ended with them being no closer to understanding, but each had gained a pinch of Gandalf’s very fine pipeweed, so they’d decided themselves content enough.)

They knew they would be joining their uncle’s company, even if said uncle was still unsure of their suitability for the quest at hand. They had known from the moment that Thorin had began gathering volunteers that they would be a part of the journey to reclaim Erebor.

Dís had known as well. She’d taken one look at her sons; Fíli leaning back into his chair, shoulders back and chin forward, wearing the crooked smile of someone who’d just had their path revealed to them. Kíli too, would be leaving her; his eyes lit with the bright excitement of the hunt, leaning forward as if proximity to Thorin’s words could somehow bring them to bear in that very moment.

It was Thorin himself who was still in denial over their presence as companions on the journey. At every instance, Fíli and Kíli had told him they would be going with him, and Thorin had ignored them with every ounce of stubbornness that ran through the line of Durin. He would not bring them, he repeated over and over again, relying on a litany of excuses: they were too young, they were not experienced enough, they were his heirs and needed to be kept from the dangers of a quest, Ered Luin could not be left without leadership. (Most of these excuses were made to the brothers only when Dís was not present, as she would surely have left Thorin regretting any implication that she was not fit to lead their settlement, or capable of handling herself without her family present.)

In the end, they had decided to ignore Thorin’s decision to ignore them.

Dís had commissioned them packs; beautiful and water-tight, made with finest leather to be found. She had designed Fíli’s with all manner of pockets, both inside and out, aware of her eldest son’s fondness for blades and his habits of secreting them away in any crevice of clothing where he could make one fit. For Kíli she added straps designed to fit his quiver along with a long section on the other side of the pack to counterbalance the weight of his arrows.

She’d found a small pouch leather pouch that she knew would fit within Fíli’s coat. She’d gotten it, and embossed it with runes that meant love and safety and her pride as a mother. She had pulled him aside pressed it into his hands. “You keep this with you,” she had said, “And you fill it with every story. Every story that you will tell me when I reach you in Erebor.”

Fíli had smiled at her and taken it, sliding it into one of his many pockets.

“It is also for the other stories.” She’d said, meeting his steady gaze.

“What other stories?”

“The ones that need to be spoken, but need not to be heard.” She said.

Fíli’s eyes widened with understanding. He was not always good at saying the things he needed to. This was a place he could keep the fears he sometimes whispered to the darkness; the things that he didn’t know how to say to other people.

Then Dís had pulled him close and held him tightly. That night, she’d done his braids as she hadn’t since he was a dwarfling.

She’d found a beautiful, flawless piece of labradorite for her youngest, large enough to fit in the palm of her hand, but not so small as to be lost within his pack. She’d found him and placed it into his hand, closing his fingers around the dark stone. “This comes back to me,” she’d said, “This is not yours to keep. You will have it with you, no matter what happens. You will keep track of this, but when I come to the mountian, you will return it to me.”

Kíli had nodded solemnly, understanding all of the things that she was not saying. A reminder to not lose track of important things in his haste; to not forsake the things that gave him strength in his enthusiasm for the things he’d never seen before. It was also a statemnt of trust; the belief that he could hold on to something so small, but so precious, throughout whatever trials the quest held in store.

“When I get to Erebor, you will give this back.” She said, meeting his eyes, so she could feel the strength of her conviction.

“I will, Amâd.” He said.

Then, she had wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and told him stories of her childhood, when the strength of dwarves had filled the halls of the lost kingdom with life and warmth.

 

Their bags had been packed for over a fortnight, settled into the corner of their rooms. When Thorin finally decided to leave, they would be there with him.

 

 


	2. Under the Stars

_**They drank up the wine, and they got to talking, they now had more important things to say. And when the car broke down they started walking, where were they going without ever knowing the way?** _

_**Fastball - The Way** _

 

It was strange to be on the road, part of this ragtag company that had assembled; a collection of tinkers and toymakers, miners and smiths. The strangest thing of all was the pressing knowledge that so many of them held two different lives. They had the skills from their professions, the memories and etiquette from a time in the mountain - and who they’d had to become after the dragon.

Fíli and Kíli had learned from them, learned stories of their history from their mother and uncle, on long nights, settled around the hearth of their small home in Ered Luin, sometimes filled with a warmth of shared memory as Dís would interrupt Thorin’s tales, sharing details or contradicting remembrances. Sometimes those nights were tired and cold, echoing like the cold, empty halls of the kingdom that now only remained in memories.  

They’d learned their letters from Balin, drilled in the formal runes of diplomacy, as well as the informal shorthand of urgent missives and and the sloping, round shapes of Westron. From Dwalin they’d been drilled with swords, with daggers and axes - they had preferred weapons, but battle didn’t care much for preferences. There had been a hard look in Dwalin’s eyes when he’d told them that they would learn how to defend themselves with every weapon in the armoury. Dwarves with no mountain were vulnerable. Dwarves with no mountain had to be able to defend themselves, whatever the circumstances.

Gloin had taught them the value of a gem; worked with them to understand the value of time spent, the worth of skill in craft. Oin had taught them foraging, which leaves meant danger and which thorns held sun-sweet berries; which plants could be used in boiled water to hold off oncoming illness. Thorin had brought them into to learn the skills of a smith, how to tell the quality of raw metal, how to find the form that was hid within, to reach the full potential of what stock was available. Dís had taught them the skills of hunting, how to build traps and snares; how to skin an animal, how to make sure that nothing went to waste.

There were some things, though, that no one had taught them; things they’d learned from watching, from listening, from torn clothing and bleeding palms, from going where they were told not to.

They’d learned the best way to escape the notice of Men was to climb, as the tall folk seem to have never learned to look up. They’d learned that sometimes the best defense was offense, and that sometimes the best offense was distraction.

The one thing they’d learned, though, that had somehow crept into their bones, that circled through their minds with their very blood, was that the most efficient way to insure everyone’s needs were met...was to simply ask for aid.

They’d learned that it was their responsibility to care for and respect the people the people within their community. They’d learned when a mine collapsed, and everyone left their homes to mount a rescue for those trapped within the rock. They’d learned during harsh winters, when their families store of salted meat began to disappear, but their neighbour who had just given birth and could not hunt for herself remained well and hale. They’d learned that they were to help when others had fallen.

And in return, others would come when called; even if they had never before been away from their homes, even if they had already spent so much of their lives following a prince with no crown. Even when those from other kingdoms believed they would ever return.

Thorin had spent his life helping those who followed him, so when he asked, they answered.

It was in house of Elrond, Bofur singing as Bombur cooked sausages over a fire built of destroyed furniture, they sat on the balcony, pipes lit and pleasantly warm from the wine ‘acquired’ from their host. They were close enough share in the cheer of the company, but far enough away to speak only amongst themselves. The night was clear and the stars were bright.

It was Kíli who broke the silence first, “It still does not feel real.”

Fíli shot his brother a questioning look. “We have faced floods and trolls and orcs, and it does not feel real to you?”

“That soon we shall reach Erebor.” Kíli clarified.

Fíli acknowledged with a nod and a murmur of understanding.

“I find I still cannot fathom what it will be like.” He stared up at the stars, and the bright light of the moon shining down.

Fíli smiled and shifted over, aligning himself with his brother so he could press their sides together; letting the warm contact speak as a familiar show of camaraderie and solidarity. “Some things will not change.”

Kíli looked at his brother, the golden tones of his countenance bleached from the cool light of the stars. “Will they not?”

Fíli took a puff on his pipe, and in a fit of brotherly affection, blew the smoke into Kíli’s face. “Whatever we learn, we learn together.”

Kíli shoved him in response, before leaning back, settling so they were once again sharing the same space, and smiled into the night. “I can live with that,” he said, “I can live with that.

 

 


	3. Stone Giants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fiki Week Day 2: Stone Giants
> 
> Alternative take: Something else happened in the mountains. Stone Giants have to come from somewhere…
> 
> *Not quite a happy fic? Kind of a death!fic? More of a...reincarnation!fic? Sort of?

_**They’ll never get hungry, they’ll never get old and grey. You can see their shadows wandering off somewhere. They won’t make it home but they really don’t care.**_

_**Fastball - The Way** _

 

The rain was lashing down in unforgiving torrents, the wet seeping through even the most water-tight seams. Amongst a company of dwarves and a hobbit, all of them were used to being sure-footed in any conditions; but no amount of inborn stability could overcome the slick water sheeting off the stone beneath their feet.

It was thunder like nothing that any of them had ever heard before, as if the earth itself was convulsing beneath their feet. The lightning was close enough that it prickled through the air, coating skin with a heavy layer of unease and resting on the back of the neck like vague, indefinable fear.

The ground shook. Rocks fell. Through the thick, dark, haze of rain, the company saw them - illuminated in brief flashes, huge, hulking creatures that had either been sleeping since the beginning of time or else walked out of a dream themselves - living rock, the size of the mountains they were crossing.

They moved slowly, but with unstoppable purpose. The familiar sound of grinding stone, that so many dwarfs found to be comforting had been distorted into monstrous proportions, until it was all but unrecognizable, the pitch of it so low that it rattled up through the ground and vibrated the teeth in their skulls.

When the mountain broke away there was nothing they could do. They found themselves to be walking on the very legs of the giants. What can a dwarf, even one descendant from Durin himself, hope to do in the face of such sheer size? Dwarves were used to working within the rock. They had always respected the life of stone; but to see it stand, and walk, and make war - no, that was something beyond the scope of any of Mahal’s children, no matter how great.

The company tried their best to stay together, fingers clutching into cloaks as the world shifted around them, and the ground split in two. Thorin was held to the mountain by the strong grip of Dwalin and Balin. Thorin, in turn, remembered at the last moment to reach out take hold of the Hobbit, as his bare feet slipped across the wet rock. Dori, the strongest of them all, grabbed both of his brothers and held them close, seeking shelter under an overhanging rock. There were those of the company who were not so lucky, finding themselves to be unwitting passengers on the legs of a stone behemoth. Bifur and Bofur hung together, Bombur crowding them back, attempting to protect them with his own sheer bulk as they tried to take advantage of whatever hand-holds they could find as the rock shifted.

Fíli and Kíli, always so close, always walking together, were torn apart from each other. One had found footing on the stable mountainside. The other had stepped on to the ledge that had become part of the great creature now rising for battle.

But they were brothers, and even when the earth moved between them, they did not let go of each other.

There was too much weight, not enough friction. Their hands had tightened on each other, and they had both known the inevitable end.

 

The fall was interminable. Every sense seemed magnified; the electric scent of the storm mixing with the deep, clean scent of wet rock, the slicked soft leather of their coats as they cleaved to each other in the unrelenting pull of gravity. There was the endless thunder, the great cracks of rock that echoed through the valley, the pounding of the rain, and underneath it all, the soft murmur of their voices.

“Nalim al ainâla ana al nâd zap mênu.”

“Udu bakana ana zalafa zap mênu.”

 

Travel the path to the end with you.

From wake to sleep with you.

 

They struck the ground together, and all was black.

  
  


The ages passed. Some left. Some rose. Black towers were built, only to fall.  

 

Through it all, the mountains remained; ever changing, ever watchful.

 

When the earth itself felt herself to be older; when the land had long since come to terms with the temporary blemishes of civilizations that were constructed across it...there was a day just like any other.

 

Two brothers, long ago born from the stone, awoke once again. They felt the sun upon their faces, and the ground beneath their feet - but most importantly, they felt their hand intertwine as they walked out to discover the changes that time had wrought.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nalim - travel ainâla - path/course ana - to al - the Nâd - end
> 
> udu - from bakana - wake ana - to zalafa - sleep zap - with mênu - you
> 
> khuzdul from: http://thelotronline.weebly.com/khuzdul.html


	4. Erebor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fíli and Kíil are born within the mountain, and it changes everything.
> 
> Erebor never fell AU.

_**Anyone can see the road that they walk on is paved in gold, and it’s always summer they’ll never get cold.** _

_**Fastball - The Way** _

 

 

 

The first time they went missing - nobody noticed. Dís was exhausted, heavily pregnant with her third child, catching whatever rest she could find between her appearances as Princess, her energetic children - now old enough to be escaping on adventures, but still small enough to fit in nooks where no adult dwarf would ever think to look for them - and the aches of her own body.

Her husband, Víli, does his best to wear the boys out, but he has his own work within the aristocracy of Erebor, not to mention how he’d once again taken to sorting through her missives, and dealing with the ones he deemed not important enough for her time when her energy was being so diverted to the strain of carrying their child. He is busy with negotiations between the mining guild and prospectors.

They were small, and they were quiet. They had been learning how to escape unnoticed for the past several months. Fíli had shown much patience as he waited for Kíli’s motor skills to catch up with their shared sense of adventure. Now, though, Kíli could get up and down even the huge, ornate steps that led to the throne room (even though they both knew better than to actually go in. That was one rule neither of them cared much to break. There was a feeling that hung about the heavy stone door that they didn’t much like. When Dís and Víli had told them never to enter unless given permission, it was a command they were more than happy to comply with.)

Together, they went past the throne, with it’s eerie, foreboding air, and past the bright lights of the main walkways down to the mines. They stayed well away from the bustling hubs of the market districts and the kitchens, knowing that two small dwarflings with no adult in sight was a fast way to cut their forays short (and to get in trouble, as they were always walked back to their rooms, where they were watched until their parents came back).

Today, they had a mission.

Their sister would be born soon. (Dís tutted whenever she heard them talk with such surety of the new child. ‘What if you have a brother?’ she would ask, only to be met with blank stares. ‘But she isn’t,’ one would say. ‘She’s our sister,’ the other would finish.) They needed to find her a gift fitting for the Queen she would one day become.

They went where the mountain would lead them, trusting the stone beneath their feet; listening as it directed them where to go.

They find it in the tunnels - not the big tunnels, meant for the traffic of dwarfish business, but in the network of capillaries, meant to distribute heat and air throughout the mountain. It’s clear from the tracks they’ve left in the dust that no one has ventured here for decades. The sapphire is rough, uncut, but bigger than Fíli’s fist. Together, they are able to pry it from the wall with little trouble. They tuck it safely into Kíli’s pocket, which has three toggles to fasten their prize safely within.

They spend the next few hours exploring the tunnels; thanking the mountain for her gift, repaying her with care and attention where she does not often receive it.

They return to their home barely an hour before their father.

That night, Dís goes into labour. As the sun cracks over the horizon, their sister is born. Her name is Nílä.

 

They go missing more often after that; causing panic and heartache the first time their parents look around the room, only to realize that their two sons, their precious children, are gone. A search had gone out through the mountain, everyone being told to look for the missing princes.

When Fíli and Kíli returned a few hours later; dirty, but none the worse for wear, Dís and Víli had simply clung to each other and wept.

By the time that Nílä was walking, however they had gotten used to it. Sometimes, the boys would simply disappear. No one ever seemed to be able to find them; there were never stories of them wandering into places where they shouldn’t be. No dwarf ever seemed to see them when they went on their adventures together. They worried, of course, but the worry lessened over time, when the boys showed themselves to be sure-footed and cautious, with an intuition for stone that even Víli, who’d worked in the mines before marrying Dís, had rarely seen anything like it.

There was a name for it, but it was not spoken until much later.

When the boys were well into their second decade Dís announced that she was pregnant once again. She had waited until Nílä was asleep, before gathering the boys and Víli and settling down in front of the hearth to share her news. Víli had been shocked and delighted. Fíli and Kíli had glanced at each other, before Kíli had stood and walked to their room, returning moments later with a leather pouch, that he then handed to his brother, who in turn passed it to their mother.

“She will be beautiful.” Kíli said.

“The Mountain waits for her.” Fíli said.

 

Dís shared a worried look with Víli, and then opened the bag. It was full of huge, uncut gems; not a single one smaller than her thumb. Slowly, she set pulled them from the bag and set them on the table. Bloodstone to prevent miscarriage and to ease labour pains. Black onyx, for strength and stamina during childbirth. Moss agate, to bring strength and health to the new child. Larimar, to guard against the sadness that struck some after the birth of a child.  

“Where did you learn about these?” Dís asked, softly.

“Erebor told us.” Fíli said, “She wants to take care of you.”

Kíli nodded with eager agreement. “She loves you as much as we do.”

And Víli could no longer deny his suspicions.

 

That night, after all of their children were finally asleep, he turned to Dís.

“You know what they are.” He said, worry clouding his usually-clear voice.

Dís met his gaze. “It has not been spoken of in centuries. I thought it to be tales of fancy.”

“I’ve met no dwarf alive who has seen it, but there is no denying what they say. They are stone-speakers, Dís.”

“Their lives are the mountain…” Dís said, quoting one of the few songs she remembered that told of such things.

Víli nodded, and sang the rest.

 

_“Their lives are the mountain,_

_and so is she theirs._

_When rock has spoken_

_through the voices of dwarfs_

_All wise folk will listen_

_to the stone’s true heirs.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *
> 
>  Meanings for stones taken from [here](http://naturealmom.com/crystals-stones-for-childbirth-postpartum-beyond/)
> 
>  


	5. 200 Years

_**Their children woke up and they couldn’t find them. They left before the sun came up that day. They just drove off and left it all behind ‘em, but where were they going without ever knowing the way?** _

_**Fastball - The Way** _

 

“It’s going to be good, isn’t it.” Fíli said with a sigh, glancing once more across the room.

Kíli paused from where he was finishing re-tying his bedroll to his pack, and turned to look at his brother. “It is too late for melancholy. We’re to be leaving with the sun.”

“It’s not melancholy!” Fíli protested with a smile. He paused a moment, taking in the space that they had made their home for the past century, “It is relief.” He finally said, voice soft in the newly found emptiness of the room. “It will be good to walk again, brother, to see the sun and feel the wind.”

Kíli finished his knot, then stood, crossing the room to stand with Fíli. “And Thrín is ready for this. She will rule well.”

Fíli nodded, “Of that I have no doubts.” He couldn’t help but smile, “Already she has managed to earn the respect of the council. How long did it take us?”

Kíli let out a laugh, “Oh, decades, surely. Though we had much to learn, and probably deserved their mistrust.”

Fíli let out a cry of faux-outrage, “Us? Deserving of mistrust? What falsehoods do you speak of?”

“Certainly nothing of import. We would never do anything dramatic or unexpected or politically questionable.” He raised an eyebrow, “We would never even think of such things. Like running away in the middle of the night instead of holding a ceremony to abdicate.”

“If we did that they would never let us leave!” Fíli whined, but his eyes were sparkling with mischief.

Kíli pressed a soft kiss to his mouth. “Which is why our bags are packed, is it not?”

“Indeed it is.” Fíli replied. He took the moment to lean into the familiar warmth of his brother; still tall and lean, even after the weight of years had come to rest upon them.

Their sister Thrín was one hundred and ten years old, and the first child born within the Lonely Moutnain after it had been reclaimed from Smaug. She was still young, but she was older than Fíli and Kíli had been when they had been crowned. Not to mention the undeniable fact that she had a keen mind for politics that neither Fíli or Kíli possesed. Fíli had learned the lessons of diplomacy through study and hard work. Kíli had stumbled through cultural misunderstanding until he’d accumulated enough mistakes to have figured out the desired etiquette.

They had reached the point where they were good kings. Their people were taken care of; Erebor was prosperous. These days, most folk had little bad to say of the Durin boys who shared the throne.

 

When they had first been pushed into the position, though, the situation had been very different. They had both been reeling from the battle; both been expecting for Thorin to take up the crown that he had fought so valiantly to reclaim. But, after the battle, when Thorin had been forced to stay abed to heal (and was kept there by sheer power of a certain hobbit who could quell the strongest creatures with merely a disappointed glare) he had called his nephews in and explained his plan.

Thorin was unwilling to risk the dragon-sickness again. Now that he’d learned he was susceptible to it, he thought that the best way to insure that he never again fell beneath the tantalizing sway of goldlust was simply to remove himself from the situation. Thorin would be returning with Bilbo to the Shire.

Suddenly, the once-hypothetical, far-off imaginings of Kingship were replaced with the very real responsibilities of trying to get a war-torn mountain to look less like the dragon lair it had been for so many years and somehow transform it into a space that could house the dwarves who were already on their way.

The struggle of those first few months was something that neither of them would ever forget. Not yet recovered from injuries sustained in battle. Kíli was laid low with broken ribs that would steal his breath whenever he tried to move too fast. Fíli, who was able to duel-wield swords with flawless grace, had nonetheless broken the arm he’d learned to write with, causing his letters to become shaky and childish and he tried to force his other hand into delicate motions it was unused to. Advisors they’d never met were suddenly appearing from every direction, bringing with them double-edged words and judgmental asides that slid through conversation like nothing that Fíli or Kíli had ever experienced before. Still healing, and increasingly with only each other to rely on, they were awash in a sea of unknown expectations and gossip.

Kíli had watched as Fíli slowly drowned under the weight of the tasks that were suddenly heaped upon him. Fíli, as the oldest, the acknowledged heir, was meant to be in ever meeting, meant to oversee and approve every decision being made, was meant to respond personally to ever inquiry from the old, distinguished bloodlines, askign after the return of their social status within the newly reclaimed city. It was bad enough that Kíli was pushed aside whenever he tried to alleviate some of the stress from his brother’s position, but everything was compounded by their slow-healing injuries.

Every time Oin checked in on them, he shook his head and said the same thing: they weren’t healing well, they needed to rest. Unfortunately, rest was not easy to come by.

Fíli’s coronation had been approaching rapidly, when Kíli, in a fit of frustration, stole all of the ink to be found in the room they’d been using as an office. When Fíli walked in an found himself without the tools to respond to the growing piles of paperwork that awaited. His first response was anger, but he was quickly soothed by Kíli’s strong hands on his shoulders, and the calm, serious depth in his brother’s brown eyes.

“I will write for you.” He’d said.

Fíli had never been so grateful.

 

From that moment on, their approach to the mountain shifted. No long did they accept what tasks supposedly belonged to one or the other of them. Together, they would sift through what needed to be done, and then they would delegate tasks based on their own inclinations.

 

Fíli was the one who had decided to make the arrangement permanent. He’d gone to Balin and Ori, and asked for their help. Surely, somewhere in the history of their people there were tales of two who ruled together. Though, even if there weren’t, Fíli knew that he would  not allow that to dissuade him. If he and Kíli were the first to rule together as king; so be it.

 

Ori had come to Fíli a few weeks later, lit with excitement. “We’ve found some.” He said, “Durin’s own son! We found a journal, and it says that he ruled with his wife! Together they shared a crown!”

Fíli was nearly weak with relief at the news. Even the stuffiest of counselors would have a hard time fighting them, if their precedence was none other than Durin’s own child.

This revelation,  however, turned out not be the highlight of the day; no, that came not long after the sun had set, and their parents arrived with the first caravan from the Blue Mountains.

 

Now armed with the support of history, and, perhaps even more powerfully, Princess Dís, Fíli and Kíli made the plans for their joint coronation.

 

They been crowned for nearly a decade when Dís miraculously found herself to be pregnant again; and a year later, their sister Thrín was brought into the world.

 

Thrín was brought up in the world of Erebor, watching her brothers move together as two halves of a whole, balancing the their strengths against any force of opposition that they came across. She watched as they fought battles the only way they knew how: together with swords in hand - and Thrín learned a different way.

Thrín learned to watch and listen. Thrín learned which words would stop disagreements, and she learned whose ears to whisper them to. Thrín grew up shrewd and smart; but while her head was plotting tricks against the council, her feet were on the ground with her people. Her first toys had been gifts from Bifur, and while she’d learned the music as the mark of a lady, she’d learned the songs folk danced to in the taverns with Bofur.

She had a far keener mind for the delicacies of politics than either of her brothers, but she was driven always to first protect her friends, as they were without voices in the courts of the rich.

  
  
  


And so the brothers were left with this: their mother had died in her sleep nearly fifty years earlier, and their father had followed soon after. Their sister had been named next in line for the throne, truly with enough experience to run a kingdom, (and far more aptitude then they themselves ever hoped to have). She had married Dain’s son Thorin not too years ago, and brought him back with her to Erebor.

Truly though, Fíli and Kíli were tired. Their talks of Ered Luin had grown in number and length until, between them, their longing for the familiar forests they grew up in was almost palpable.

So they hatched a plan.

They would leave in the night, when no one would stop them. They would travel back to the Blue Mountains to live out their retirement in peace.

 

  
  


Fíli took up his pack and leaned forward to kiss his brother, his lover, his king, his one. Kíli smiled back at him, and twined their fingers together.

“Ready to be off then?” He asked, giving Fíli’s hand a soft squeeze.

“Two hundred years.” Fíli said, “Two hundred years, and now we shall be back under the stars.” Fíli was filled with joy at the prospect. “I have never been more ready.”

 

And, together as always, they left Erebor in the dead of night, and walked on until they they found the sun lighting the path before them.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [on tumblr!](http://taupefox59.tumblr.com/) If you ever want to say hello, leave a prompt, ask a question or just talk. :D


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